


gag order

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Compulsion, Gags, Jon asks Elias Questions, Jon gets the better of Elias for once, Jon is annoyed, Kind of fluffy if you squint I guess, Kink Meme, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mildly divergent from the empty space before episode 102, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Restraints, There's very little actual sexual contact, Trust, Truth, Truth Spells, almost canon compliant, implicit consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jon would like Elias to understand what an awful month he's had.





	gag order

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=36964#cmt36964. Thanks to Kyros and Zomburai for letting me throw excerpts at them.

“Elias,” Jon says, quite casually. Surprisingly casually, given that he looks like something the cat dragged in and smells like a Bed, Bath, and Beyond. His graying hair is matted to his head and the top of his shirt is missing several buttons. Elias can see one of the white worm scars running along the top of his collarbone. Concealing the relief he’s feeling, Elias nods at him.

            “Jon,” he greets him. “I’m glad to see you.”

            For a long moment, Jon simply stands at the edge of the room and looks back at him. “Would you like to know what I’ve been through?” he asks abruptly, and Elias has to take a deep breath, trembling at the strength of the question. As always, it’s a spike of exquisite sensation, a tingling that runs the length of his spine and down.

            “Always,” he says, with perfect truth.

            “Then sit still,” Jon says, blunt and wary, one lip quirking up in what might be a smirk or just an expression of disgust. “Unless you don’t trust me, but I can’t imagine what possible grounds _you_ could have for that.”

            “I do trust you,” Elias says gently, not bothering to voice that it’s easy to trust someone when you know almost everything about them. Almost. He’s not sure he could pinpoint Jon’s breaking point. He hopes he hasn’t been pushed past it.

            “Right,” Jon says. “Good then.” He stalks forward, yanks Elias’s jacket up and over the back of the chair where he leave it, and loops the arms loosely around Elias, binding him to the chair. It wouldn’t be difficult, if Elias wanted to, to shake it off, but he sits patiently, waiting to see where Jon is going with this. Jon slides a hand into Elias’s breast pocket and removes his handkerchief. “I hope this is clean,” he tells Elias. Before Elias can answer—it is, actually, freshly laundered—Jon is pushing it into Elias’s mouth.

            Elias inhales, startled, the sensation of intrusion by long, supple fingers that still taste of some appallingly cheap moisturizer both unexpected and unexpectedly arousing. Once again, before he has a chance to react, the fingers withdraw, leaving just the cloth sitting heavy on his tongue, beginning to soak up his saliva. Next, Jon pulls a ragged length of cloth out of pocket and ties it securely over Elias’s mouth. He smiles tightly as Elias tries to speak.

            “Do you find that it makes it difficult to speak, Elias?” he asks quietly, and Elias stares, his eyes going wide as the compulsion catches him, running like tingling electricity through his limbs, plucking the answer from his brain and delivering it to his mouth, where it spills out as a muffled, incomprehensible noise. Jon’s smile widens.

            “Do you have any idea how long I was putting up with this?” he asks. “Do you understand how absolutely _infuriating_ it is to be at the mercy of someone else without the ability to even protest? Do you really think it was _fair_ to leave me there for a God. Damn. Month?” The questions are delivered rapid-fire, each one sending a delicious twist of that exquisite compulsion. It’s too much, too fast—Elias tries to answer, but all that comes out is a desperate, muffled whine.

            Jon runs a delicate, questioning finger across Elias’s cheekbone, and he tries to control the shudder that runs through his entire frame. “Do you think you can come without me touching your erection?” Jon murmurs in Elias’s ear, and Elias makes a choking, desperate noise, half at the pain of his erection tenting out his trousers, half at the _question_.

            “Interesting,” Jon says lightly. “Don’t you think this is an interesting experiment, Elias?” It’s hard for Elias to _breathe_ , and not just because of the constricting cloth clogging his mouth. He moans, rocking against the clothing that has him trapped. “Surely you approve.” Jon’s voice has taken on a slightly darker tone, and the lack of a question throws Elias, but it’s a momentary reprieve, and he sits and tries to relax, his lungs heaving. “After all, you’re so very invested in never giving me answers,” Jon says. “But oh, you _do_ seem to like these questions. _Don’t you_?” The force behind the last, unexpected question is so strong that Elias bites his tongue, his entire body writhing in response.

            Jon pats his head. “This way you get all the questions you like, and you don’t have to tell me a _thing_.” He bends over so that his mouth is right by Elias’s ear, and he starts _asking_. The questions blur into each other, some of them meaningless: _How old are you, what’s your favorite color, have you ever gotten a traffic ticket_ , _what was the name of your first pet_ ; others—less so: _do you enjoy being the head of the institute, how did you feel when you found out that Gertrude was planning to destroy it, what exactly is your greatest fear_? It’s so much; it’s too much. At some point, Elias no longer has any control over whether he _tries_ to answer, but as it all comes out in a meaningless blur of muddled, muffled noises anyway, it doesn’t much matter. The gag is soaked with saliva, and there’s moisture on his face—tears, perhaps? Canting his hips gets him a little friction against the constriction of his trousers, but it’s not enough. Answers and noises are all mixed together, and at some point, he finds himself trying to beg through the haze of pleasure, _Jon, please, Jon, I can’t—_ but it’s still garbled, incomprehensible, it’s—

            Finally, finally, when he thinks he honestly can’t bear another second of it, a hand reaches out and pulls down the gag. “Do you need me to touch you?” Jon asks, and the raw overstimulation of that question drags a pained whimper out of Elias’s throat.

            “Yes,” he hisses. “Yes, _please_ , yes.”

            Jon’s tongue flicks out between his lips momentarily, and Elias’s hips jerk again. “What would happen if I didn’t?” he asks. “If I just left you here like this?”

            “I’d sit here for hours,” Elias babbles. “I could free myself if I tried but I couldn’t try, not in this state. I’d sit and writhe and think about you the whole time, and every thought would draw me closer to orgasm but never quite over, and frankly at some point Melanie would come in and that would be—awkward for both of us.”

            Jon smirks, very slightly, then shrugs. “Oh, very well,” he says. “I suppose since you’ve been so _honest_ for a change.” There are hands on Elias’s belt, loosening it, opening his trousers, slipping inside—

            “How does it feel?” Jon asks, giving a few rough, experimental tugs, and Elias’s entire world inverts with pleasure.

            When he’s capable of coherent thought again, he’s been tucked back into his trousers, and the loose restraints have been removed. Jon has dropped the gag on the desk, and he’s carefully wiping at Elias’s face with another handkerchief, presumably his own.

            “There,” he says. “And maybe the next time I won’t spend a month gagged in Nikola Orsinov’s basement.”

            He’s turning to leave, but there’s one more truth that Elias has to spit out before he can let him go. He reaches out and catches Jon’s wrist, the shock of actual contact sending a quick warm spike of afterglow through his spine. “Jon,” he says hoarsely.

            “Yes?”

            “I did everything I could to find you as fast as possible.”

            Jon’s eyes widen very slightly, and then he nods solemnly. “Thank you,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Further thanks to Kyros for the suggestion of Jon needling Elias with respect to him not liking to give Jon answers but really liking to be asked questions.


End file.
